


See You Are Farther Away

by EmeraldEyes8917



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Scene, Anger, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Throwback to Study in Pink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldEyes8917/pseuds/EmeraldEyes8917
Summary: When John Watson cuts Sherlock out of his life following the tragic death of Mary Morstan, it is up to Anthea to find a way for the two friends to reconcile for the detective's sake.
Relationships: Anthea & John Watson, Anthea & Mycroft Holmes, Anthea/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	See You Are Farther Away

"Permission to engage with surveillance subject, sir?"  
  
Mycroft lifts his head from the file and proposed strategy that she had handed to him without a single word, the understanding clear.  
  
"Granted. Go..."  
  
This may prove to be completely stepping over a line that should never be crossed, but she had to do something.  
  
Even now the spectre of Mary Morstan hung over her like a shroud, and she had never even met the woman, yet her loss to her husband, to the great detective, even as a tasked agent to the British Government, was rippling outwards and could not be ceased.  
  
She had to do something...  
  
  
 **Three nights later...**  
  
The black Bentley car with the tinted windows tailing John Watson for the better part of five streets slows to a crawl at the side of the pavement where he has stopped to check his phone, typing out a reply quite rapidly. He does not even halt or look up when the door opens and a tall agent in a dark suit intones quietly, "Doctor John Watson?"  
  
"Yes."

He sounds impatient, voice almost raspy as if he had not spoken for several hours.  
  
"You should come with us, sir. There is someone who wishes to speak to you quite urgently."  
  
"Tell Mycroft I'm not interested."

Focusing on the phone screen, his left hand clenches and unclenches by his side and he darts a look to his left, then down again.  
  
The agent politely insists, "It's quite urgent."  
  
"And I'm quite fed up of his lackeys coming to find me when he could come to fetch me himself if he got off his high horse and actually did some good for the country he loves so much. Good evening..."  
  
Before he can make a dismissive exit, another agent has emerged from the shadows, taken him firmly by the forearms and hoisted him off his feet, carrying him towards the car as he throws several choice curse words at them as he is bundled into the backseat, and the door slammed shut.  
  
Both agents exchange looks and faint smiles, "We did ask nicely..."  
  
  
A short drive later, John is brought back to the warehouse where he encountered Mycroft Holmes for the first time. He had maintained a dignified silence, sitting alone in the backseat this time, though the driver notices that he was constantly muttering to himself and looking to one side, then turning his head and clenching his left hand again.  
  
As the car comes to a stop, he opens the door and steps out without being instructed to, this time without the aid of an agent, or a metal cane, raising his head to see the figure silhouetted in the headlights.  
  
It was certainly more feminine and the umbrella is absent.  
  
As his eyes focus in, he recognises the woman who had escorted him on that night, who had played the mysterious card, and who would not even reveal her real name.  
  
Anthea.  
  
Feeling a stab of annoyance, John approaches Mycroft Holmes' close aide without a trace of friendliness, stopping just a few short feet in front of her.  
  
A brief pause as they regard each other and Anthea offers him a friendly smile, which is not returned.  
  
"John... it is good to see you."  
  
"Wish I could say the same."  
  
The sting is palpable, but her calm expression remains in place.  
  
"I apologise for the cloak and dagger method, but I doubt you would have met me in a cafe or somewhere else more pleasant, so this would have to do."  
  
John's expression does not even attempt to warm up, "I would have met you anywhere, far from your boss, to be honest."  
  
She carries on in a friendly manner, almost telling a secret joke, "Like him or not, I have a duty to him and this government, so you are stuck with me being his aide."  
  
"Would have expected nothing less."  
  
At least he had not walked away, so perhaps they could actually talk on equal terms.  
  
"Please, have a seat, John."  
  
"I'd rather stand."  
  
The stubborn streak that was well known was clearly rearing its head again, but she takes it in stride.  
  
"To be honest, you don't seem at all pleased to see me, John."  
  
"You're not a pleasing person."  
  
Her smile drops immediately.  
  
"This smart-arse attitude really does not suit you."  
  
This manages to provoke some semblance of a smile, "Never put you down as a cursing lady, Anthea. You're building up a picture for me now since you conveniently forgot me that night. Have you gone behind your boss's back to summon me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then it was his idea."  
  
"No. It was mine."  
  
John's smile appears quite unkind, "How industrious of you. So now that you have me here, in this warehouse in the middle of nowhere, doing some impression of a mysterious shadow agent, what do you want?"  
  
"I want to talk."  
  
Once again, he smiles in a non-humoured manner, "Oh, I think I know what about. What makes you think for one second that I want to talk to you about anything?"  
  
Anthea lifts her hands in a show of helplessness, "John... I just want you to hear me out, please. What you are doing isn't going to end well for anyone. I know that you are hurting, I know that you are mourning..."  
  
John's smile turns icy, "Well, my wife was shot in the stomach and bled out in front of me, so forgive me for not doing a tap dance of joy."  
  
Anthea's chest clenches, "You know how sorry I am for your loss... she was valued for her skills and I know that you loved her and you miss her..."  
  
At this, John lunges forward at her and she takes several steps backwards, almost raising her hands to defend herself.  
  
"You don't know a fucking thing! You have no clue what I am going through! You don't know anything, so shut up!!"

His shout echoes all around the warehouse space, the acoustics ringing to all who were there to listen.  
  
Suddenly, this all seems like the biggest mistake, but she could not stop now, "John... you might not want to hear this, but you are hurting yourself by cutting yourself off from those who care for you."  
  
John turns away from her sharply, putting his hands to his head, pressing his fists against his temples, then turns back to her, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes bloodshot and breathing laboured, "Do you know what a promise means? Do you have any idea? He doesn't care! He's a fucking robot and I never want to lay eyes on him again. He broke his promise to protect her, he fucking promised..."  
  
At this statement, his eyes slide to the left, not looking at her directly and his face softens into sorrow as if looking at someone behind her, and when she turns around in curious surprise, there is no one there.  
  
She does not ask him what he was doing, for his lips are moving as if engaging with a silent conversation unknown to her, and she almost believes that this is some trick to make her let her guard down before he would actually attack her, so she treads very carefully.  
  
"John, you are looking for someone to blame. Blame Vivian Norbury for pulling the trigger. Blame Lady Smallwood for not being more vigilant as to what someone in her employ was committing. Blame Mycroft for not having her fired years ago. You can blame me for any reason under the sun. Just don't let Sherlock bear the brunt of your grief. This is hurting him, and I believe you know it, so you are being so unkind when it is not deserved."  
  
All in an instant, John has switched back to stone-faced anger, the look in his eyes piercing and hateful. At that moment, following his physical move towards her and his demeanour being so hostile, she had never been more afraid of him.  
  
"You're more the fool for staying with him. He doesn't... he won't ever love you as anyone else could. You and his brother are pathetic for even trying to protect him. He's a monster... it's time you realised that, and you would be better off without him."  
  
Shaking her head, blinking rapidly, she whispers, "Don't... don't you dare invalidate my feelings. I am not... I will not give up on him. I am sorry that you have, that you could not find it in yourself to even think of forgiving him..."  
  
"It's been one too many times. Pretending to the dead for two years... gallivanting around Europe... leaving me alone. But then I wouldn't have met Mary. Maybe I would have been better off. It's all his fucking fault. He should have stayed."  
  
John focuses on her, quite perplexed now, putting the pieces together, "He left you too, you know. But then you probably knew. He wouldn't keep his partner in the dark, would he? He wouldn't betray you, not if he loved you so much. He will someday if he hasn't already. That's the kind of person that he is. He hurts without care, and you are not an exception."  
  
She had heard enough, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry in front of him, "I think you should go home, John, because you are being unreasonable and you are not listening. You are grieving, I can understand that, but you have no need to be so... to be so cruel."  
  
John looks over her shoulder again, but he does not appear to heed her words, "Don't ever try to contact me again. You or Mycroft, because I am done. One day you will wake up and Sherlock Holmes will be standing over another dead body, so you'd better do the right thing and leave him too. He deserves to be alone..."  
  
Her voice begins to shale, along with her resolve to stay calm, "Go to that car, John... before I do something that I will regret. I did not come out here to start a fight, though you are clearly spoiling for one. I was reasonable, just remember that."  
  
John's smirk is neither charming nor warm, "You listen to me, and make sure your boss knows it too. Stay away from me, Anthea... just stay away from me, and Rosie too. I'll... I'll make sure Molly tells you to stay away. I am her father, and I know what's best for my daughter, so stay the hell away."  
  
Once again, his eyes look to the left, and this time she does not look away as her heart clenches painfully, for now, she truly could not watch over Rosie Watson as she did with her own godchildren, and she swallows thickly, "You have every right as her father. Just remember what you said to me today and whether you truly meant it, John."  
  
"If I find one camera in my house, or one car following me, you will hear about it. I've suffered enough without having some government watchdog on my doorstep... and personal assistants running after men who don't give a toss about them."  
  
John's jaw clenches before he mutters 'To hell with it', turns and strides back to the black car with grim purpose, swinging the back door open and shutting it with a resolute snap. One of the agents had been watching the entire scene unfold, he offers her the closest to a sympathetic look a person in his profession could offer, before slipping into the driver's seat, and the car pulls away.  
  
Waiting until the last possible second when the car is out of the vicinity, her legs buckle and she catches the back of the proffered folding chair for support, sinking down into it, a hand on her chest, breathing quite rapidly.  
  
She had failed.  
  
It wasn't just the personal attacks on her and Mycroft that stung the most, but it was John deliberately picking apart her relationship with Sherlock as if him being in pain gave him the right to inflict it on everyone else.  
  
True to her word, she did not cry in front of John Watson, or anyone else that night.  
  
Taking out her phone, she calls Mycroft directly, the weight of that failure pressing down all the more, and when he picks up, he does not offer any greeting as it all comes out in a rush, "He won't return, sir. I tried, but he will not budge, he will not change his mind. And now... now I cannot watch over his daughter. He has forbidden me, just like he did with Sherlock. He just... he is lashing out at any person who he thinks is a threat, who he even suspects is not on his side, but I want to help him, sir. Why can't he see that? I tried, sir, I really did..."  
  
Mycroft's sigh is audible, "This was the risk we faced. We chose to engage with him. One can only valiantly try in these circumstances."  
  
Covering her eyes, she whispers, "I'm sorry, sir."  
  
"My dear... if you are apologising for a man's reaction then you will have to apologise for the invention of flaws in the human psyche. Do not concern yourself with this."  
  
"Yes, Mr Holmes."  
  
"Just watch over him. Protect him... I can only do so much without incurring his fury. May I rely on you?"  
  
Even as a lone tear creeps down her cheek to be quickly dashed away, she says with conviction, "You can, sir."  
  
By his tone, she knew instinctively that he did not mean the army doctor stationed with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.  
  
But how could she bear to face him knowing that she had driven John farther away by meeting with him, by trying to bridge that divide? Would Sherlock hate her for this or appreciate her trying? She did not know, but for now, she would have to live in hope until she returned to him.


End file.
